


it comes around

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Genji finds himself back in his old body, ten years in the past.  He meets Zenyatta again for the second time in his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please mouseover/hover your cursor for any translations (there's just one, haha). There will be a translation at the end as well. Thank you!

When Genji hits the ground, all the air seems to burst from his chest. Shards of blue and purple light waver in front of his vision, colors oddly stark and vibrant in his eyes. He gasps, more startled by Nepal's frigid air freezing inside his lungs than the initial wave of pain. It takes a moment to recover, much slower than usual. Time seems to drag for several seconds before Genji pushes himself up and turns to the teleporter.

The shimmering portal pops and hisses, lights flickering before the contraption simply darkens and falls silent. Genji stares, still dazed, until he sees his breath puff out in warm, lingering wisps. He pauses, putting a hand to his jaw to check if his faceplate had fallen off in the chaos.

There is no faceplace. There is the skin of his fingertips touching the skin of his cheek. He stills, uncomprehending, and lowers his hand, stares at the open, bare palm, the creases and lines of human fingers. He turns his hands over—he is staring at them both now—and sees his reddened knuckles clench into fists.

Genji scrambles to his feet, and distantly he acknowledges how his boots scrape against the icy cobblestones, the malleable _give_ of his legs as he stands, the weight of his body on his knees. It’s heavier, with none of the reinforced spring of hydraulics to bolster him. He stumbles, catching himself with a steadying palm against the ground.

His fingers dig into the ice. The leftover dirt of autumn wedges grit beneath his fingernails. Something bubbles inside him, light and joyous. Genji lets out a noise. The rumble of his voice snags at his throat, wretches itself free from his mouth. It’s less precise than a voice modulator, but it’s so distinctly imperfect and organic. Genji resists the temptation to simply speak, just to hear himself.

He stands, heart pounding, and he can feel that too, with his palm pressing against his chest. Genji’s hands tangle with the textured fabric of his robes, fingers tracing the embroidered Shimada crest on his sleeve. He hasn’t worn these clothes in a decade, but the discomfort of wearing a dead clan’s symbol outweighs his desire to _feel_ it. He doesn’t remember if these clothes had been the last thing he had worn before he became a cyborg.

The teleporter has not repaired itself, but there are no more enemies to hunt down or avoid. Genji leaves it, following down the familiar wide path from the Shambali village. He had previously been at the monastery before falling through the teleporter, the temple bells ringing through his audio sensors, the battle nearing the end as his sword dripped red with Talon blood.

Genji touches the hilt of his sword, sheathed over his shoulder. It is not Ryu Ichimonji, but some other weapon from his youth, old-fashioned and passed down. He wonders where his current sword is.

(But he also wonders at the stretch of his arm, the pull of muscle. His skin moulds tight to conform to his movements. He has never noticed it before, back when he had a human body.)

It takes some time to get to the monastery. Genji finds himself stopping to touch the stone walls and cold elephant statues, decorated brightly with soft red flowers that bleed pink-tinged drops when Genji pinches the petals. When it gets too cold for his freezing fingers, he warms his hands over smoky incense and candles. He gets reacquainted with their gentle heat in his palms before moving on.

Another stop, this time in front of the little cottage that stands in front of the monastery. Genji looks at his reflection through an ice-frosted window and rubs at the glass, tracing the condensation of water droplets with his finger, even while he stares in surprise at what he sees. He should have known from the old Shimada clothes he wears, but the man reflected back at him is an alarming memory of being too young. His green hair is _vivid_. Genji pulls at the strands, stiff with spray and product. He is thirty-five, in a twenty-five year-old body he can no longer identify with, in both physicality and mentality.

His cold fingers trace the window again. Modern science has done its best to replicate touch, but Genji has always been a tactile person, fond of touch and fond of receiving it. He cannot lie to himself; he had missed this—the sharp bite of frost, the knowledge that his fingertips can _hurt_. He pulls back. Above him, temple bells chime with a pure clarity that makes him turn his ears to the sound. The ringing echoes in the thin air. It takes a long while to fade into silence.

Genji tenses. He has not seen anyone yet. Not the monks, nor the few humans who have managed to make their home so high up the mountain. Apprehension crawls up his spine, and that is also a different kind of sensory reaction he has not experienced in a very long time.

The monastery is quiet when he enters through the open doors. He stares, unsettled by the empty hallways. There should have been the remnants of battle—fallen vases, broken candles, broken mortar—Genji does not expects bodies. The monks do not believe in killing still, despite the violence.

The monastery is clean and undisturbed. Genji would think there hadn’t been a battle at all, but he sees the unadorned corner where Mondatta’s memorial shrine should have stood. Someone has moved it, somehow.

He rounds the main hallway and stops to see Zenyatta, bereft of his orbs. Zenyatta lacks his usual red sash as well, along with the talisman at his hip. Genji puzzles at this for only a second before he resumes walking. “Master.”

Zenyatta glances up at him, and there’s a distinct note of surprise in his voice. “Oh!”

Genji approaches. Zenyatta moves back. Genji halts. He lets out an embarrassed laugh, realizing.

“Master, it’s me, Genji,” he explains. With some wry humor, he says, “The teleporter seems to have malfunctioned. This was my human body ten years ago. I _did_ tell you about my green hair.”

It is not so unnerving for omnic’s face to be expressionless. Genji has grown used to it, but Zenyatta’s blank look seems to magnify at his bewildered silence. Genji frowns.

“You must have me confused with another omnic,” Zenyatta finally says, sounding a bit offended.

His confusion is so palpable Genji almost believes him for a moment. But he is _sure_ the omnic is Zenyatta.

“Master Ze-” he begins, trying again, but from the corner of his eye he catches the flutter of robes coming from the connecting hallway. The name dies out with a stunned croak.

"Oh, _Zenyatta_ ," Mondatta says in gentle despair as he looks at Genji. "Did we not discuss this already?"

The head omnic walks over to them, alive and well, and Genji feels the world drop beneath his feet.

The missing memorial shrine, he realizes, has never been moved because it has yet to _exist_. Genji glances down at his hands, his flesh and skin pale from the cold. His body has not been returned to him, and he is the interloper in this past timeline.

Zenyatta bobs up and down, as if he is debating with himself to appear either contrite or recreant. In the end he bows, but Genji can’t help but notice how the gesture itself seems rebellious.

"You are mistaken, master,” Zenyatta says, outwardly serene. “I did not bring him here. He came on his own."

More omnic monks appear in the hallways, aqua lights blinking in curiosity. A few enterprising ones pass by, and Genji can hear their teasing murmurs; _‘oh, not again,’_ and _‘humans are not stray cats to collect, Zenyatta!’_

Mondatta tilts his head, letting the comments slide in quiet amusement. "And you did not encourage him to follow you?"

"No. This is the first I have seen of him," Zenyatta says, looking at Genji. He pauses, intrigued, and then he raises his hand in a short wave. “Hello. You must be a long way from home.”

Mondatta makes a noise that sounds very much like a sigh.

“Ah. Hello,” Genji says, still at a loss. He bows, to both Zenyatta and Mondatta. If his execution is a little less graceful than usual the omnics do not mention it. They would not know of it, in any case.

“Greetings,” Mondatta says, polite, but there is firmness in his tone. “I am sorry, traveler, but you cannot stay here. This is a protected sanctuary.”

A part of Genji is still a little in awe at meeting Mondatta—an omnic he had never met personally, but Zenyatta had always spoke highly of him, in Genji’s future time. It is not hard to appear humble and apologetic.

“I did not mean to trespass, I-” he starts to say, but Zenyatta interrupts.

“And why can’t he stay?” Zenyatta says, turning to Mondatta. “He is not from the village. It would be a shame to turn him away when he has come so far.” To Genji, he adds, “It is _not_ trespassing. Our doors are open to anyone who seek assistance.”

Genji feels his jaw unhinge by a centimeter. He glances at Mondatta, who looks impassive in the usual way an omnic can, but Mondatta doesn't seem surprised by Zenyatta’s persistent opposition, calm and leveled as it is. Genji had never thought Zenyatta as willfully _querulous_ —and with Mondatta of all people—but, if Genji thinks back to Zenyatta’s initial stubbornness when they had first met, things begin to click into place.

“Zenyatta, he cannot stay here,” Mondatta repeats mildly. He gestures with his hand towards Genji but Zenyatta stiffens.

“Then,” Zenyatta says, with all the heat of an old argument reigniting once again, “are we not as bad as the humans who shun _us_?”

His voice echoes through the temple. Genji feels the silence that follows after, noticing how the other monks have disappeared, and he begins to suspect that not all of them might be followers of the Iris. It is possible other omnics are living here as well—who remain hidden, away the moment a human had walked up the temple steps.

Genji had been born at the start of the Omnic Crisis, protected and screened behind a castle and a clan. It had ended by the time he turned ten years old, but he remembers the growing resentment and hatred against the omnics, no matter what their involvement had been during the war.

Mondatta had called the temple a _sanctuary._

Genji tries not to fidget and holds his tongue against speaking. He wants to speak up, but he does not know the full context of the tension between Zenyatta and Mondatta. Siding with either one would be foolish, and if there is anything Genji has learned, it’s that patience and observation can yield better results than intervention.

Oddly enough, it had been Zenyatta who drilled the concept into his mind, though _this_ younger Zenyatta looks to be still learning himself.

Mondatta puts his hand over Zenyatta’s shoulder. “Zenyatta, it is not that we shun humans, only we do not have the fuel they require here, or the means to shelter them warmly. Look at him, his nose is dripping. A symptom of impending illness.”

Genji furiously wipes his nose with his sleeve and tries not to sniff, muttering in Japanese. He forgets how cold an unmodified body can become. The temple is as frigid as the outside, and his clothes are for the gentle autumn weather of Hanamura, not for Nepal’s snowy mountains. Mondatta’s comment brings attention to the chill, and Genji folds his arms across his chest on reflex.

“Oh,” Zenyatta says, abashed. He pauses, head tilting to the side as the lights over his forehead blink rapidly in thought. Shoulders hunching, he mutters, “I seem to confuse curiosity with compassion.”

Mondatta pats his arm. “Curiosity is not a terrible thing. It is often the seed of compassion. I do wish you would be more careful, though. You have been exploring too far down the mountain.”

“It is of no consequence.” Zenyatta shrugs. “I take care in climbing.”

Mondatta murmurs, “It is not the mountain I fear for you,” but leaves it at that.

They take Genji to a warmer part of the temple, filled with candles which will have to suffice in way of heating for Genji. He feels marginally better but still accepts the heavy blanket Mondatta gives him to wrap over his shoulders. The cloth smells of dust and incense and petrol. He declines the old canned rations one of the other monks offers. The war rations must be as old as him.

Meanwhile, Zenyatta pelts him with questions. About humans, about the world outside the monastery. Genji answers vaguely, not knowing the exact state of the world’s affairs, but Zenyatta’s enthusiasm is infectious. Halfway through, Mondatta excuses himself, but not before stopping Zenyatta.

“Please escort him back to the village,” Mondatta tells him as Genji bows respectfully. He bows back, evidently fond despite their short time together. “They will be able to care for him better there. And please be careful.”

He walks pass Genji, pausing for a second to look at him.

“Zenyatta is young, and new,” he says, out of earshot while Zenyatta is occupied with reading the canned rations. His gaze points to the sword strapped to Genji’s back. “You should know; _it is not the mountain I worry about_.”

Genji nods, a little surprise by Mondatta’s unexpected trust. “I will protect him.”

“Please,” Mondatta says, patting Genji’s shoulder.

His metal hand is a heavy weight, but so is the blanket.

* * *

The mountain road is a gentle slope down to the village. Genji’s boots leave footprints over untouched snow in a single wandering line, intersected more than once by Zenyatta’s looping and meandering path. Genji glances behind them and finds himself smiling. He tugs the blanket tighter around his body. The hilt of his sword taps against the back of his head, the sheath presses along his spine, the tip bumps against his waist. He is distracted.

Zenyatta is ahead of him by a few paces, up until he is gone from Genji’s line of sight. Genji turns around once—mostly to make sure Zenyatta hasn’t suddenly floated off to play a prank. He is not sure when exactly Zenyatta would start to forego walking. Perhaps not in a few years.

 _Babies crawl, man walks,_ Genji thinks wryly. _Enlightened omnics hover._

He follows the second set of footprints off the path. They disappear off the edge of a steep slope and Genji pauses. He peers over the ledge and sees nothing to note, just more snow and patches of dirt and rocks where the icy runoffs had trickled down. For a moment, Genji lets himself accept the fact that he may have lost his future mentor down an entire mountain before he whirls around and starts to yell.

“ _Zenyatta,_ ” he calls out.

“Yes?” says Zenyatta, right behind him. Somehow. The omnic sounds delighted.

Genji jumps. Maybe, back in his cyborg body, he would have registered Zenyatta sooner, but adrenaline is hitting every nerve. He is not used to it. Genji stumbles back, slipping, and promptly tumbles off the ledge.

He can hear Zenyatta’s dismayed ‘ _oh no_ ’ as he rolls down the rest of the slope. Genji automatically reaches out for his cybernetics, but his legs and arms are no longer controlled by circuits and wires. He fumbles, mind going into a second of panic before he finally slows enough to brace his arms against the ground to stop his momentum.

He stands, shaky and shivering. Miraculously, he still has the blanket wrapped around him, more thoroughly snug from rolling. Genji groans, the new pains of his human body hitting him all at once. He sinks back down on his heels, breathing hard, and opens his clenched hands to find new scrapes over his palms, bright red with blood. It is unpleasant and it stings. Genji carefully places his hands in the clean snow, hissing, and the bleeding stops quickly from the cold. He stands again and kicks at the ground to cover the bloody handprints.

Zenyatta eventually reaches him, having taken a less direct route down. Genji wearily notes Zenyatta doesn’t seem to be interested in following the main path.

“Are you all right?” Zenyatta asks. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.  It was only a tumble.  Off an entire ledge,” Genji says, tucking his hands behind the blanket. “I do not startle easily, but I haven’t been feeling myself recently.”

Zenyatta’s lights flicker curiously. “Oh?”

Genji tilts his head, opens his mouth, and abruptly changes his mind. He has grown used to voicing his thoughts to his mentor, but the Zenyatta of this time is not yet his teacher nor his friend. Genji shrugs.

“Maybe we should stick to staying on the main path, like what Master Mondatta wants,” he says instead.

Zenyatta pauses, metal feet crunching over the snow as he shifts. “And what else does Mondatta want? Did he say anything else to you?”

“Excuse me?” Genji says, surprised by Zenyatta’s even tone. He regards him with another careful look. “I believe he wants you safe.”

This seems to agitate Zenyatta even more. “I am young, yes, but I am not a child.”

Genji purses his lips, realization dawning on him, and then he blurts out, “You’re _five._ ”

“My cognitive functions are that of an human adult,” Zenyatta says reproachfully. “Please, stop laughing.”

“Oh, of course,” Genji says, still trying to recover. “Okay, I understand now. Come on. We need to go before I freeze to death.” He turns away, rubbing a part of the blanket across his eyes and nose.

* * *

The edge of the village is marked by a wooden fence. Genji catches Zenyatta hesitating before he eagerly crosses the threshold.

“Have you not been in the village?” Genji asks, surprised.

“Oh, I have,” Zenyatta says, looking around. The scenery looks as if it hadn’t changed in the last couple of years, old technology still present from the buildings to the satellite dishes. “But it is always exciting to do so.”

There is a quiet yearning in Zenyatta’s words. Genji mulls over Zenyatta’s little world; the monastery, the village, the mountain. He knows Zenyatta will eventually leave it all, but he still doesn’t know what to say.

“You can travel, you know,” he suggests as they walk.

Zenyatta’s reply is faster than what Genji anticipates. “I cannot leave my brothers and sisters,” he says, as if he has been asked the question before, but he reluctantly adds, “And the world is… dangerous. For omnics.”

Genji blinks. “Learn to fight.”

Zenyatta’s lights blink back at him. “I do not fight.”

“Yes, you do.” Genji laughs. “You fight Mondatta.”

“With words,” Zenyatta clarifies. “And that is not fighting. It is… amiable arguing.”

Genji can’t help but grin. It is interesting to hear Zenyatta less eloquent than usual, but a little more sobering to see his teacher a little unsure of himself. “There is no such thing as amiable arguing if you _really_ mean it. Look, you’re fighting with me now.”

“I am… not,” Zenyatta says, begrudgingly, but he sounds uncomfortable with the idea. His pace slows, trailing behind until Genji stops to wait for him. “I do not believe in advocating for violence. That is what we are taught at the monastery.” He motions to Genji’s sword, metal hand coming up to mime grasping the hilt. “You seem to think otherwise.”

Genji tips his head to the side, thoughtful, and waits for Zenyatta to catch up to him. They resume walking into the quiet village, passing by the looming elephant statues and flower-covered shrines. Zenyatta bobs in front of each of them, and Genji does the same, clasping his hands in front of him as he bows.

“Non-violence is fine in theory,” Genji eventually says, straightening. “Do not provoke violence, sure, but I don’t believe in simply laying down and taking it when comes to me.” He pauses. “And some people just need a good kick in the ass sometimes. You never know.”

Zenyatta laughs. “You sound wise. And practical.”

Genji sputters, breaking out in more laughter. “I speak less out of wisdom, more from experience.”

“I believe that is just as important. Worldly experience is something I truly lack.”

“All the more reason to get out of here,” Genji says.

Zenyatta goes still. Genji glances at him, a lone omnic in a small village that seems to already swallow him up in snow and buildings. Zenyatta’s presence has always been _quiet_ , but warm and bright at the same time. The village and the monastery doesn’t suit him, Genji knows, but neither do the wretched alleys of King’s Row or Numbani’s sprawling towers.

Zenyatta sighs. “I’m not sure about that, traveler.”

“Afraid?”

“Of course,” Zenyatta admits readily. “But it is a nice dream to have, is it not?”

Genji hitches the blanket higher over his shoulders. “Think on it.”

Zenyatta doesn’t answer him, but his silence is thoughtful. He leads Genji through the old archway, towards one of the village’s main communal buildings. The chimney wafts smoke and the smell of warm food. Genji looks up at the clear blue sky. It is very quiet, and very still. His feet ache and his ears are starting to hurt, but that is a unique kind of comfort he will need to enjoy.

The decision doesn’t come easily to him. He turns from the building, pulling the blanket from his shoulders. He sets it aside, over some crates for a passing villager to find. He can hear Zenyatta following behind.

“Where are you going, traveler?” Zenyatta asks.

Genji’s brow furrows. He touches the sleeves of his shirt, the cloth now damp from the snow, and his soft hair, and the hard metal of his arm guards. He keeps walking, keeps running his hands over the mundane objects he passes—the stone walls, the extinguished sticks of incense, the grains of rice on which they stand on. His movements are slowing and sluggish.

Genji is unbearably cold by the time he reaches the teleporter.

Zenyatta stares at the shining portal. He seems to understand, just how far away Genji is from home, even if he does not know the year from which he came from. “Oh. One last charge left, just for you. Must be fate of the Iris.”

Genji smiles. “Must be.”

The teleporter is a lonely little thing, bright new technology out of place next to the shrines. Genji’s heart thuds against his ribs, but that is enough. He doesn’t need to feel for it.

“Are you all right?” Zenyatta asks, and startles Genji by touching his elbow. The metal is as cold as the air, and Genji wonders if it is only in his head that he cannot feel anything at all now.

He takes Zenyatta’s hands, golden metal over his reddened skin. His fingers are too numb to feel properly but that is supposed to be the normal for him. “I will be. Thank you.”

Zenyatta’s lights flicker, but he grips Genji’s hands in acknowledgement, and Genji squeezes back. He takes a breath, gaze sliding to the portal before focusing back on Zenyatta.

“Your path may be unclear at the moment, but you will do many things, in the future,” Genji says in a rush. “Just as I have many things to do.”

His words are for himself just as much as they are for Zenyatta. He looks down at his hands again. He will miss them, the calluses and veins and how they bleed. The words fall from his mouth; _“I have to go back.”_

Zenyatta stares at him, solemn, and Genji lets go of his hands. He take a steps back, the sharp buzzing of the teleporter traveling up and down his spine.

“Goodbye, traveler,” Zenyatta says. “May we meet again in another life.”

Genji opens his mouth, startled into laughing brightly before the teleporter's electric blue light surrounds him.

“I think it might be sooner than that,” he says, grinning.

"What do you mean?"

Genji lifts his hand, mimicking Zenyatta's peculiar little wave, and watches as Zenyatta waves back, bewildered.  He laughs again, and falls back into the teleporter.

“ _Ja ne, sensei!"_


	2. (and around again)

The omnic monk kicks him. _Kicks_ him. His sword goes flying from his hands, tiny purple orb hovering over him as he hits the ground. Genji’s emotions are frayed, bleeding out from the edges. It makes him clumsier than usual, more inclined to lash out. He hadn’t meant to draw his sword out against the monk, but the monk had been persistently trailing after him until Genji had enough. Genji had only meant to threaten the omnic, use the the world’s prejudices against him. He had meant to, and it backfired spectacularly.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Genji yells, trying to scramble back up to his feet, but the omnic monk simply kicks him again.

“Will you listen now? Or do you only respond to violence?”

“You’re crazy! Aren’t you a monk? What kind of monk _hits_ people?”

“Your behavior is reprehensible,” the omnic says. “And a wise man once told me some people just need a kick in the ass.”

“I’m guessing this person wasn’t a monk,” Genji says mulishly. He stills, learning that if he doesn't move, the omnic’s kicking feet do not move either. “I wasn’t going to _hurt_ you. Just… thought I could scare you off.”

“Fear is a weapon sometimes sharper and more lasting than a sword,” the omnic says, lights flickering. He waves his hand and the dark orb over Genji flies back to him in exchange for a blue one. “And I do not fear _you_.”

Genji flinches, but the blue orb is soothing and bathes him in a calming light. His breathing evens out, and he blinks in surprise when the omnic kneels down beside him and does a strange little wave.

“Hello again, fellow traveler.”


End file.
